The Tenth Circle
by CheshireMisfit
Summary: It all began in a bar. And, as could be expected, it was certainly not the best of places to start. Akuroku.


**A/N:** Hey, Misfit here! This is a birthday present for the lovely **bipolarity**, whose birthday is, of course, today. Unfortunately, I only discovered this fact three days ago, and with the dreaded FINALS looming ahead (less than a week away, oh no!) I was only able to write this little prologue, which you see below. After said finals are over, I will most certainly post the rest of the story, which will be quite long and quite more satisfying than this little wretched piece of an extremely sorry present for someone.

To **bipolarity**: I'M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I didn't realize until too late and the finals and the horror and the excuse excuse excuse D': I will, though, have the rest typed up and stuff during winter break, so it won't be too impossibly late, but I do hope that you can accept the prologue for now. I'M SO SORRY AGAIN.

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**

**Disclaimer:** I like Akuroku. My favorite color is blue. I own Kingdom Hearts. Which one does not belong?!

(Psst: definitely the color statement :D)

* * *

**The Tenth Circle**

It is dirty in here, of course it is. The glasses are dirty and the people are dirty, their talk even more so. Your skin is itching with imagined filth, and you start to doubt your decision in coming to a place so different from what you are used to.

The smoke fills every grimy corner of the room like a foul demon, tainting your clothes with its scent and your mind with its toxin. The floor is black—well, you think so; it could have been gray at some point, maybe even a light brown, but now it is so covered in scuff marks and dirt and things you do not even dare guess at that you stop trying to puzzle it out. It does not matter. But then, nothing really does anymore.

* * *

Welcome to The Tenth Circle, my dear, where there are catastrophes and miracles alike, where chance meetings and Fate work their black magic, where anything that happens is the first domino in the longest chain you will ever witness. It is Hell to some, Heaven to others, and a refuge to everyone. Memorize the name, love, for there is not much else you will be able to hold on to.

* * *

Roxas closes his eyes and tilts his head back with a sigh unnoticeable over the roar of the bar's other patrons. This is what he is here for: to drown himself in the rush of the crowd, to lose himself in the chaotic swirl of emotions that are pressing in on all sides, to merge his flickering flame of life with the furious onslaught of this firestorm.

He debates buying some alcohol, just to break the age-limit rule before he no longer can. He turns legal tomorrow, so he really only has two hours to wait, but the tantalizing rush of adrenaline that would no doubt accompany the danger is almost undeniable to someone who has never had the chance to before. He glances over a nearby menu, picking the most vulgar name he can say without blushing, and waves to the gruff-looking bartender.

"Uh, sir," Roxas calls tentatively, "Can I get a 'Sex on the Beach'?"

Before the bartender can confirm the order, a warm presence interrupts Roxas's next sentence, and a voice breathes hot air into the teen's ear. "Oh, no, Blondie. I don't think you want that."

Roxas's muscles tense out of instinct, but he does not turn around, keeping his words light when he asks, "Really? Is there a particular reason why not?"

A red-haired stranger slides onto the chipped stool beside him with practiced grace, a cocky smirk on his face and a glint that promises trouble in his emerald eyes. The man runs a hand through messy crimson spikes, tossing Roxas a lewd wink.

"It's very uncomfortable, see. Sand gets everywhere, and kid, I mean _everywhere_."

Roxas feels his face heat up at the vulgar implication, and his features morph into a scowl before looking down at the graffiti on the table, knitting his fingers together. He is going to pull this off, damn it, and no arrogant prick is going to stop him. Roxas turns back to his companion, and counters, making his own tone as suggestive as possible.

"Then do you have anything else I could try?"

The redhead barks a laugh, rocking his chair back on two legs. "Haha! I'll assume you meant drink-wise, of course, since it's obviously your first time here."

Roxas's glower comes back as quick as whip, and he wonders if he was really that obvious.

The other male laughs again, and leans forward on his elbows. "Drinks, then. Well, really, it depends entirely on the occasion. Which is…?" he prods.

Roxas waits a bit in answering, contemplating his choices. He eventually decides on the truth—it is most likely the guy will never remember him anyways.

"My birthday, actually. I thought I'd take myself out."

The man chuckles, tipping his stool back again. "Same birthday as 'The Key of Destiny', eh? Lucky you, to have such a _princely_ birthday."

"Not today—tomorrow. I came a little early," Roxas corrects, shoulders squaring as he becomes defensive. "What about it?"

"Oh, kitty has claws! No offense meant. It's a shame, though, being one day off," the other says playfully, acid eyes sparkling like stars in the dreary night of the bar. He stops suddenly, thoughtful, and Roxas is thrown by the sudden change. "Axel," the man says.

The blond almost-adult frowns and scans his menu again, confused. "'Axel'? I don't see it listed as a drink."

"Oh, but I'm certainly addicting like one," the stranger retorts with a grin, and it takes Roxas awhile, but it finally clicks that 'Axel' is his name. "And I'm better than a drink: you can take _me_ home, Blondie."

"I think I'll be fine as I am, thanks," Roxas responds dryly, but begins to think that maybe caution is not all that it is reputed to be—nothing risked, nothing gained, after all. So he decides to take a chance with this wickedly grinning fire-haired devil, just this once. "I'm not a pet or a drink, but neither am I a 'Blondie'. My name's Roxas, for the record."

"Roxas, huh?" The man—no, _Axel_ says, rolling the name around. His grin is dangerous now, and the redhead reaches over to snag two equally dangerous looking mugs from the table beside him, and Roxas wonders how long they had been there.

""Very well then, Roxas," he taunts, passing one to Roxas without spilling a drop, then clinks the two glasses together. "To you, and no regrets."

"No regrets," Roxas echoes, and he sips the liquid, its bitter taste burning his throat. The gaze Axel is giving him is burning as well, but he stands the heat and wonders exactly what he has gotten himself into.

* * *

TBC

Real story will be up in a maximum of two weeks. Don't blame meee, blame finals, for they are evil and deserve it. Yes.

...

Hope you liked it :D

Pssst: To people not the lovely **bipolarity**, please review, and to the lovely **bipolarity**, I hope you liked it so far :D


End file.
